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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24825436">Hearthstones and Flightways</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/polymorphic/pseuds/polymorphic'>polymorphic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Errant Souls Archive [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Character Study, Drinking to Cope, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:49:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,190</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24825436</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/polymorphic/pseuds/polymorphic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Faendal of Riverwood serves a slightly bitter tea.</p><p>(A collection of shorts featuring one very good, very single, egg. Based on events in the Errant Souls Archive series, including Always Read the Fine Print.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Faendal (Elder Scrolls)/Original Female Character(s), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Errant Souls Archive [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744585</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Steading for Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Faendal groaned into his palms. This was going as well as could be expected, as well as it ever did. But he said it before, didn’t he? Back when their words laid bare to the blush of dawn, back when their meaning stayed as twined as their forms.  He said it plainly, breath hitching when her fingertips traced his roughened own: he possessed no wisdom save for that which lay within his calloused hands.</p><p>And it wasn’t enough.</p><p>He knew that, but he tried anyway. He tried, lest he be driven mad by the slightest doubt. Lest rejection not be utter and complete. Lest, in hindsight, regret. </p><p>His mouth twisted as he wrung the words from his mind, clumsy and unpracticed.</p><p>
  <em>Desolation is not the abrasive sand of a desert, nor is it the sun as it bleaches bones. Desolation is not a stagnant swamp, nor is it the trees’ perspiration as it drips and echoes. Desolation is not a barren sea, full of salt and brine, nor is it restless waves slipping from a shore. Desolation is this house of a heart, ready to become a home. It is sunbars through the canopy, the spectacle of a sunset. It is a hearth warmed and a kettle heated. It is furnished and ready—empty, save for my own shadow as it pivots with the arc of time. </em>
</p><p>He settled back and stared at the pulpy practice paper, then read it aloud, then winced. He couldn’t give this to her—not to she, whose back was already burdened when they met. Bitterness bubbled up at his own foolishness when he compared his affection to the Dunmer’s own. Was <em>that</em> what she wanted? An accidental listing her way, a mere drift of the eyes, a superfluous double-check, an afterthought? </p><p>He crumpled the letter and fed it to the hearth.</p><p>Giving her less than everything was far too much for him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Kristaline Smile</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Faendal finds a distraction from the void</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Drinking to cope</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a grotesquely beautiful night. The stars shone like enchanted diamonds in the velvet sky, their distant luxury mocking Faendal with a beauty he could neither reach, nor afford. Masser still clung to the predawn horizon, his mottled carapace smothering the purpling mountain range with a graceless display of ruddy passion.</p><p>Fae lifted his flask to the sinking hulk and bobbed his head. “Just let go already,” he advised with a twisted smile. “It’s not like you won’t see her again.”</p><p>It had only been a day since Vera left on some unknown job for Skyrim’s most dubious character, and the irony of that same character also taking Camilla hadn’t been lost. Different kinds of taking, perhaps, but variables don’t matter when solving for one of life’s universal constants: his loneliness.</p><p>“Shit!”</p><p>Faendal had exceptionally good hearing, but he didn’t need it—that voice was sharper than his ears. It faded for a moment before the breeze picked it up and carried it even further.</p><p>“Shit<em> fuck </em> shit, fucking <em> bastard! </em>”</p><p>Something about the expletive’s repetitive lack of eloquence snagged at him, and he was heading for the mill before he could stop himself. There, a Nord woman was standing on the platform with her hands on her hips, facing the river while squaring off dramatically with…a bottle?</p><p>Willing to invest in any distraction, Faendal moved closer for a better look.</p><p>“We had a deal,” she spat at the object. “It was good for both of us. You open, I drink. That’s your purpose. Don’t you want to fulfill your purpose? What, you’re <em> scared </em> now? Not everything you thought it would be? Gonna use me to save a little face in front of all your friends? Hm?”</p><p>Her voice was clear and strident as ever, but from this distance, she looked about ready to cry. Fae cleared his throat, and she spun around angrily, breath hissing like a cat’s on the inhale. He leaned back on his heels to peer up at her.</p><p>“Is, uh…is that guy bothering you?” Her eyes widened, bringing her expression from lethal glare to panicked awareness in an instant. They were intensely blue, Faendal noticed, but silvery in the dawnlight. Her cheeks darkened, and he couldn’t help but pity her with a smile. The poor soul was a sort to show everything on her face. “I overheard you from across the river."</p><p>“Oh! Oh gosh, I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” She crossed an arm over her abdomen and clasped it tightly by the wrist. Fae recognized an attempt to keep from fidgeting when he saw one, but hers failed to account for her feet, which shuffled sideways as she fell into an awkward silence.</p><p>Masser had finally given up on Nirn, the sun taking his place low on the horizon, and that meant it was time for Fae to go home. He was drunk, heartsick, and tired. He could add homesick to it, too, an impulsive longing to abandon the changes he’d wrought and lose himself among the familiar boles of Valenwood, honoring the Green. Was <em> that </em> his recent luck? Divine punishment for leaving?</p><p>He sincerely doubted that he could be notable enough to inspire Y’ffre’s jealousy. But it <em> was </em> time for him to go home—to his snug, cavernous home—so he didn’t.</p><p>“Do you need help with it? It’s holding out on you, right?”</p><p>The woman’s face darkened a few more shades, but her gaze fell sideways to the offensive object. “Yes,” she nodded. “It’s a terrible habit this early, but—”</p><p>Fae held up his flask and gave it a shake. Her expression lifted at the telltale slosh, then relaxed into a pretty smile. “You, too?” He nodded, and she regained some of her earlier confidence, appallingly. “Poor bastard.”</p><p>“Bastard, is it?” He mounted the steps with practiced ease, muscle memory coming to the rescue a few times…he stopped counting after twice. “And here I thought we’d never met!”</p><p>The woman rolled her eyes at his terrible joke, but her smile stayed. “I’m Krista.”</p><p>“Faendal,” he answered, reaching for the bottle. So far, so good.</p><p>Three hours later, they were drinking on Anise’s side of the riverbank where the cows wouldn’t bother them. The wrinkled alchemist welcomed them into the vicinity with a tray of flatbread, cheese, and roasted pine nuts—a generous spread for a couple of daylight drunkards.</p><p>“How do you know the old lady?” he asked, an odd choice of phrase considering he had fifty years on the dame. Krista laughed as though he’d told a joke.</p><p>“I don’t <em> know </em> her, Fa...Fa—”</p><p>“Faendal.”</p><p>“Fay-N-dahl! I <em> am </em> her! Hahahahaha!”</p><p>He wanted to be stern, but her smile was too damn infectious—even after being watered down with wine. He was certain his own sobriety would reinforce that opinion…once he managed to catch it again. He chuckled. “You’re <em> something </em>. Have some more nuts before you pass out.”</p><p>Krista raised her cup on high. It was more of a wobbling salute than Fae was ready for, but he managed to clink mugs with her.</p><p>“Fuck your nuts!” she cried happily, making him choke. “Fuck yours, and his, and—” a cow lowed in the distance. “Not worth it, Bessie! <em> Run! </em>”</p>
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